The Softer Side of Unbearable
by sammasterpiece
Summary: Life isn't exactly perfect for Matt Webb and Josh Ramsay. But there's always been one thing that's kept them sane: Music. And when their lives take a turn for the worse, music is the only thing to hold them together. Collaboration.


**Author's Note: We're back! Sorry that it took so long to get this up - I've literally been working on it since two days after IWSAAA, but due to school and work and writer's block, I couldn't finish it until now. **

**This is just a _prologue; _all it's doing is providing some background information. The real story will start with Jackie's chapter, and will be written in the same style as IWSAAA (each chapter told in a different perspective). **

**In an interview a few months ago, Matt actually said Josh is older than him, for the purpose of the story Josh is a year older than him.**

**I think that's it. For those of you who read our last collab, and those of you who are completely new, welcome! We love you all already. **

**As always, both Jackie and I can be found on twitter - jackienaccache and SamMasterpiece. Follow us and stuff. Tell us what you think. **

**I'll shut up now. Enjoy the new story!**

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><p>He stood outside the doors to the music room, one hand jammed deep into his pocket, the other clutching the handle of a worn instrument case. It was 3:55, according to the clock above the doors, and practice didn't start until four; he wondered if it was too early yet, or if the other members of the senior band had already arrived and were waiting inside.<p>

Senior band. Mr. Stigings had told him over the phone the other day that it was rare for a sophomore to be admitted into the senior jazz band, and that he should consider it a great achievement and honour to have been accepted. That knowledge, however, didn't stop him from wanting to throw up.

He thought that it was maybe more awkward for him to be standing outside the doors rather than to arrive a couple of minutes late, so he took one last deep breath before pushing the door open.

The room was at least three-quarters full already, and everyone turned their heads to look at him. He stood frozen like a deer in headlights before Mr. Stigings, an exuberant man with dark hair that was receding from his forehead and turning grey at the temples, strode towards him.

"Matt!" he exclaimed, reaching out to shake Matt's hand vigorously—something Matt thought was quite unnecessary, given he had seen Mr. Stigings in band class only that morning. "So glad you made it! You have your trombone with you? Good, good. I'm going to sit you in the front, next to Josh. See him? With the guitar."

Matt followed Mr. Stigings' pointed finger until his eyes landed on a boy with unkempt dirty-blonde hair who had looked up at the sound of his name. He looked vaguely familiar; Matt recognized him from his choir class, although they'd never actually spoken before. Shooting the band director a small smile, he made his way over to the boy, sitting in the empty chair next to him.

"First time?" the boy asked, seeming to notice how Matt's hands shook as he took his trombone out of its case. "Don't think I've seen you in here before."

"Yeah," Matt said, quiet enough to be considered a whisper. He cleared his throat before continuing. "I was just accepted a couple of days ago. Someone dropped out, I guess, and I was next on the list."

The boy snorted. "Nick," he said. "Except he didn't drop out, he was suspended indefinitely."

"But it's only the second week of school!"

"Yeah, well, a lot of things can go wrong in two weeks," the boy said, shrugging. "But that's okay; I never really liked him much, anyway."

Matt couldn't really think of anything to say to that; his eyes landed on the shiny black guitar on the boy's lap, and, wanting to keep the conversation going, he blurted, "So, you play guitar?"

"No, I'm just holding this for someone." It took Matt a moment to realize he was being sarcastic, and when he did, he could feel his face turning red.

"Me too. I mean, I play, too."

"That's cool." The boy looked at him appraisingly. "How well?"

Matt shrugged, uncomfortable. "I dunno. I've been playing for a couple of years now." To be honest, he was quite proud of his ability, but he'd never admit that.

Unexpectedly, the boy grinned. "Wanna jam sometime? My dad owns a studio; I'm allowed to use it whenever."

"_Seriously_?"

"Yeah! We could even head over after practice for a bit, if you wanted." Taking Matt's speechlessness as confirmation, the boy stuck out his hand. "I'm Josh Ramsay, by the way."

Matt took his hand and shook it briefly, still hardly able to believe it. "Matt Webb."

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><p>The December rains lashed against the windshield of the car, but Josh didn't slow down. His hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, his face set.<p>

"Uh, Josh?" Matt asked tentatively. "Where are we going?"

Predictably, Josh didn't answer. He hadn't spoken much since the incident after school, when two hulking seniors had approached them and called them "chirping faggots." The bigger one had then proceeded to shove Matt into the wall, and a full-scale fight would have broken out if Mr. Trepp, their choir teacher, hadn't chosen that moment to walk by. When Josh had dragged Matt to his car, Matt had assumed that they'd be going to the studio, like they did on so many other afternoons; instead, Josh had driven straight for the highway.

It was after five now, and Matt was getting worried. Not only because he didn't know what was running through Josh's head, or because Josh's recklessness could get them killed in weather like this, but because he didn't want to hear what his mother would say if he missed dinner—again.

Josh veered off onto a winding side road, following it for a couple of minutes, seeming to be looking for something. A copse of trees became visible when they rounded a corner, and Josh pulled the car to a stop a short distance away, jumping out of the car and running towards the trees, leaving Matt no choice but to follow.

The trees provided some cover from the pouring rain; they grew close enough together to block out the highway, secluding them.

"This is it," Josh murmured to himself.

"What are you talking about?" Matt asked, thoroughly confused and a little irritated.

Josh turned to him, eyes shining, a grin on his face. "Haven't you ever wanted a place to go, to just get away from everyone?"

Matt nodded, still feeling a little confused. For him, music had always been that escape. But sometimes, even that wasn't enough.

"Well, this is it," Josh said, spreading his arms. "Sure, it needs a little work, but..."

Over the next couple of weeks, they collected pieces of wood and other odds and ends from their basements, their garages, the junkyard on the outskirts of down, and spent each weekend hammering it all together. It looked a little messy when it was finished, but it was a passable fort, a hideout.

"Here, their words can't touch us," Josh said, looking proudly at the finished product. "Here, we can be whoever we want to be."

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><p>The idea of starting a band had been at the back of their minds for several months now. They could both sing, and play guitar, among other instruments, but two wasn't really enough for a band, as Josh pointed out.<p>

So they began their search, and it wasn't long before they recruited Steve and Morgan, two boys who were in Josh's grade.

Their first band practice was held on a Friday afternoon in mid-January, in Matt's basement. They dragged their instruments in through the garage and chased Matt's mother and sister out the front door, and then proceeded to spend the next two hours sitting on the couch, eating cookies, and discussing band names.

"Dude, we can't have a band practice without a band name," Steve insisted. "The name is like, _the_ most important part of a band."

"Sure, let's not make it about the music or anything," Josh said sarcastically.

"Steve's got a point," Morgan said. "A band's not much of anything with a name."

Josh leaned back into the couch and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, if either of you have any ideas..."

Both Steve and Morgan were silent. After a few minutes, Steve said, "_You're_ our singer. Maybe you should name us."

Josh snorted. "If I'm your singer, maybe we should just name the band after me and be done with it."

Matt laughed at Josh's obvious sarcasm, but Steve was nodding. "That could work," he said. "Ramsay...Ramsay what?"

"I wasn't being serious!" Josh exclaimed.

Ignoring him, Steve turned to Morgan excitedly. "Ramsay what?" he repeated.

For the next couple of hours they tossed names back and forth, Josh occasionally interrupting their theme with ideas of his own. To his disappointment, they were all shot down; Morgan and Steve were thoroughly set on naming the band after Josh.

"Help me," Josh pleaded to Matt after yet another of his names had been denied.

"Help _us_," Morgan said. "You haven't suggested anything yet."

Matt flushed faintly. "I'm not good with naming things," he mumbled. There had been a few names bouncing around in his head, but they sounded stupid even to him.

"Well," Josh said, looking impatiently at the clock—it was now after five— "I need to get home for supper. Maybe you should let me know when you decide to take the band seriously."

"This is serious!" Steve protested. "Band names are serious business."

"Not the way you're doing it," Josh muttered. "Maybe I should find myself a new band, one that's cool with being nameless."

"Good luck with that," Steve scoffed. "Your band would exist in your imagination only."

"Ramsay Imagination?" Morgan wondered aloud.

"No," Steve said, shaking his head slowly. "But it's close..." He furrowed his brow in thought, and after a moment snapped his fingers. "That's it!" he exclaimed, a pleased smile on his face. "We'll call the band Ramsay Fiction." He took the last cookie and popped it in his mouth, looking satisfied.

"I like it," Morgan agreed, nodding.

Josh only groaned.

"It's okay," Matt whispered conspiratorially to him, holding back a laugh. "If anyone asks how we came up with our name, we can just tell them all the other ones were taken."

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><p>"Heroin?" Matt asked blankly.<p>

Josh nodded miserably, his newly-dyed black hair swinging over his eyes. He had shown up at Matt's doorstep not half an hour before, refusing to say anything more than that he had something to tell him. Now they were sitting in their fort, partially protected from the drizzling rain. The damp, cold air was making Matt shiver, but Josh seemed not to notice. "My parents found out last night. They're sending me to rehab."

Matt almost didn't hear him; he was still stuck on the truth Josh had dropped on him moments before. "_Heroin_?" he repeated incredulously. Sure, he hadn't had a real conversation with Josh in months—Josh had even stopped showing up to their band practices—but it had never once occurred to him that something like drugs could be the reason why. "You told me everything was fine!"

"It _was_ fine!" Josh shouted. "Heroin _made_ everything fine. I don't know why everyone thinks it's such a big deal..."

"Because it is a big deal! _Drugs_ are a big deal, Josh!"

"That's what I thought, too," Josh said quietly. "But they're not—or at least not in the way they make them seem. I'm fucked up, Matt. And maybe heroin doesn't help, but it makes me feel better." Josh's cheeks were wet, and it was impossible to tell if it was from tears or from the rain. "And now they're sending me away and taking it away from me and I don't know—"

Matt didn't know whether to feel angry or sick or sorry for his friend. "Why are you telling me this now? You could've told me before, I could've helped you..."

"No, you couldn't have. You don't understand." Josh wouldn't meet Matt's eyes, and Matt couldn't pretend he wasn't hurt by his words.

"And your new friends, I suppose they understand?"

"A hell of a lot more than you ever could!"

"Only because they're the reason you started in the first place!" The words escaped him angrily, but Matt knew as soon as they'd been spoken that they were true. Over the past few months Josh had taken to hanging out with a group of older kids, and Matt _knew_ they spent all weekend partying and had better things to do than go to school, and he'd even seen Josh smoking in the parking lot behind the Wal-Mart once, but pretended he hadn't...

"This isn't their fault!"

"Well then, whose is it?" Matt glared challengingly at Josh, and for the first time noticed how bloodshot his eyes were, how pale he was, how all the fat and muscle seemed to have melted away from him, leaving nothing but a skeleton covered by a thin layer of skin. "Because I'm sure it's not _yours_."

"It _is _my fault, but I don't regret it," Josh said quietly. When Matt didn't know how to respond, he added, "You don't understand, it's not as bad as you think. I don't use it because I need it, I use it because it makes me feel better. I could quit any time I wanted if I liked the way I felt without it; I don't need to go to rehab. I don't need to be _fixed_."

"I'm sure that's what all the crack addicts on the street think too," Matt said coldly. Josh was right: he didn't understand, not at all.

"See, this is why I didn't tell you before!" Josh shouted, sounding frustrated and angry. "You're so _oblivious_, Matt, and naive, and you think you know everything about me when you really don't know anything at all!"

For a moment, Matt was silent. "I guess that explains a lot then," he said stiffly, hopping down off the wooden platform that supported their fort and striding away.

"I'm sorry, that's not what I meant!" Josh jumped off after him and ran to catch up to him, but Matt ignored him. Sighing heavily, Josh said, "Look, forget it. Let's go, okay?"

"I'll walk," Matt said stubbornly.

Josh looked at him like he was insane. "You can't walk home in this! It'll take you hours!"

"Maybe I'd rather do that than sit in a car with you," Matt retorted. The hurt expression on Josh's face made some of his anger dissipate, only to be replaced by shame. "Fine," he muttered grudgingly after another stubborn moment. "I'm coming."

The ride home was spent in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts, and when Josh pulled up in front of Matt's house, Matt got out of the car without saying a word. He slammed the door behind him and walked away without looking back.

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><p><strong>AN: Tell us what you think! Reviews are always good motivation to update faster ;)**


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